


very insecure (but so am i)

by darcyreid (bucketfulloffandom)



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: M/M, give me bisexual mendel or give me death, it's too short to go into depth about it but I Had It In Mind, slight Diddle™ but nothing explicit, that's what this is supposed to be by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:13:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketfulloffandom/pseuds/darcyreid
Summary: Whizzer has a relatively unexciting night out with one interesting encounter.





	very insecure (but so am i)

**Author's Note:**

> u know when you have ideas for fics here and there that you've been meaning to write for ages, but then one day you get an idea for something stupid and for some godforsaken reason write that in one night instead? yeah. that's what this is.
> 
> guess_ill_die.jpg
> 
> also the title isn't really relevant it's just one of my favorite mendel lines and feels fitting lmao

Whizzer figures he might as well leave a note.

_Going out, don't wait for me._

He sets it on the kitchen table, ducks into the bathroom one last time to check his hair, and is out the door in a flash of expensive clothing and cologne.

The bar he visits is one he's a frequent patron of, a hotspot for gay men in New York and always host to a slew of fresh faces every time Whizzer comes. It's ideal for someone like him.

Tonight is a slower night, resulting in Whizzer nursing his fourth drink with no prospective screw in sight. This is, of course, not due to a lack of willing men—Whizzer knows he's gorgeous, and plenty of others know it as well. He has _standards_ , is all.

He's just about ready to call it quits when he spots an interesting character across the bar. The man is attractive, in a quirky, dorky kind of way, with dark, curly hair and restless hands. He looks away quickly when Whizzer makes eye contact with him, but by then Whizzer has already taken action.

He walks over to the man, appraises his neatly-kept beard and frayed sweater, before coming to a decision.

“What brings you here on this fine night, Curls?” he asks, taking the free seat next to the man. Curls looks a little shocked and a lot frightened. Whizzer thinks he knows what's going on. Might as well be blunt, then. “Looking for a screw?”

Curls turns red and splutters, “Oh, no no no- I'm not- this isn't-”

 _Closet case_ , Whizzer sighs to himself. _Why do I always end up with the closet cases_. He could easily drop the cause and pick up some other handsome man who isn't having an identity crisis, but he's here already, and while Curls is definitely not good with his words, Whizzer suspects his mouth could still be worth something.

“I get it,” Whizzer laughs softly, leaning closer; he can't help a smirk at the way Curls’ eyes widen just the slightest. “You're not gay.”

Curls doesn't say anything, just stares at him, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows heavily.

“Doesn't mean you can't still have some fun.” Without giving him a chance to respond (though he doubts the man could have formulated a proper sentence anyways), Whizzer stands, turns on his heels and waltzes off in the direction of the restrooms. He glances back with a raised eyebrow, and sure enough, Curls is watching him as he walks away. Or, rather, he's watching his ass as he walks away.

Whizzer inclines his head towards the restroom and sways his hips almost imperceptibly before fixing his gaze forward again. He checks himself in the dirty mirror, rehearsing the seductive smile he's honestly already perfected, and sets a mental timer for two minutes.

Curls comes in at a minute and twenty three seconds, his hands wringing together anxiously. They freeze when he spots Whizzer leaning against the sink with a smug look and his shirt partially unbuttoned.

“Glad you decided to come,” Whizzer all but purrs. He takes a step towards the other man, smile growing when he doesn't immediately bolt. Whizzer backs him up against the door and reaches around him to lock it. “I'm going to suck you off now.”

A quiet sound escapes Curls at that point, going directly into a sharp intake of breath when Whizzer gracefully sinks to his knees and reaches for his belt. He unbuckles and removes it in record time, and tosses it off to the side carelessly. The evidence of Curls’ arousal is already apparent, the man’s boxers straining.

“This good?” Whizzer asks, leaning back a bit to look up at Curls’ face, because although he is an asshole, he's not _that_ kind of asshole.

Curls gulps and nods hesitantly. “Yeah, I just- aw, jeez, you know.” Whizzer raises an eyebrow. “I've never done this.”

“Well then it's a good thing you don't need to do anything,” Whizzer remarks, before he pulls Curls’ underwear down and gets to work.

Curls is satisfyingly noisy, letting slip a multitude of high, breathy gasps and little whimpers and groans. He comes quickly with his hands in Whizzer’s hair, to no surprise to Whizzer, who swallows it down with ease.

When Whizzer stands up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Curls blurts, “Thanks-? I’m, uh. Sorry I can't, you know.” He gestures lamely at Whizzer’s crotch.

Whizzer laughs, perhaps a little more loudly than need be. Curls looks taken aback. “Fuck, man, you're a gem.” He crosses his arms and studies Curls’ demeanor once more. “Don't worry your pretty head about it. Just scurry on home to your wife or whoever, alright?”

He's about to open the door when Curls says, “I'm not married.”

Whizzer pauses with his hand on the doorknob and looks back at Curls. His expression is earnest, one part confused and one part desperate, one part searching and the rest lonely. It reminds him of how Marvin was when he first met him. Suddenly, Whizzer’s need to leave is increased tenfold.

“That's fortunate,” he sneers. “Get over yourself and find a man, then.”

Curls still tries to salvage the situation, extending a hand to Whizzer. For some reason, Whizzer takes it. Curls’ grip is firm, and executes a handshake like it's what he does for a living. “I'm- my name is Mendel,” he says.

And suddenly everything clicks into place in Whizzer’s head.

_Oh, my god._

“Have a good night, doctor,” Whizzer grins, then is out the door and gone.

This, he decides when he's lying on the couch in the den, his feet on the armrest and a cigarette in between his fingers, is a secret he's keeping to himself for the rest of his life, if only to spite Marvin.

 _I blew your psychiatrist last night_ , he imagines telling him. Wouldn't that be a conversation.


End file.
